


Matters of State

by Alzerak



Series: Matters of State [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Breast Fucking, Brother-Sister Kink, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alzerak/pseuds/Alzerak
Summary: Sansa Stark, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Lady of Winterfell, works very hard to ensure the prosperity of her people.  It is only right that she is helped by those who can help her.





	Matters of State

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exercise in pure and utter filth. I will say I have been inspired to write smut for the first by the many amazing talented Jonsa writers, (though I will not name and shame them by association to this work), so if you want to read good smut, go and sort by Jonsa rated E and click on anything else.

Naturally, as Arya expected, Sansa was seated on her austere throne, diligently scratching her quill across various parchments, frowning in concentration.

 

Arya pulled chair up to the other side of the table, the friction on stone jolting Sansa’s attention.

“Can I help you, Arya?”  Sansa asked with her normal politeness, but with the obvious undercurrent of someone who was extremely busy.

 

And Sansa was busy - a representative from the Iron Bank was due to visit.  Sansa had, as usual, taken it upon herself to bear the responsibility of that meeting, and had been preparing for the meeting almost single-handedly.  

 

Arya mused, as she admired the tablecloth adorning the head table that Sansa had of course, made herself, that Sansa’s responsibility could be detrimental to her own health, a fact that Ser Brienne of Tarth had clucked at her before she entered the room.

“I was wondering if I could do anything for you.”  Arya replied. When Sansa shook her head, Arya continued in a softer tone.  “No one will think it wrong for you to take a short break.

Sansa seemed to take a moment to consider what Arya had said, and Arya used that chance to observe Sansa as she prepared for her Queenly duties.  Sansa was the image of regal bearing, right up to the simple crown perched atop her head. 

“Once I’m finished I’ll take a longer break.”  Sansa smiled, and continued with her calculations.  

 

This was, of course, the cornerstone of Sansa’s sense of responsibility.  After the disastrous Stark-Targaryen alliance ended with the destruction of Kings Landing, Sansa had to pull Jon out of his self-imposed exile.  Whilst the court of public opinion had been forgiving for Jon, he had a tremendous amount of guilt, understandably so. Had they not already made an understanding, Arya would have given Sansa her undying devotion for bringing Jon back to the pack - Arya still didn’t know what happened between the two, but Jon seemed to be happy, even with his unusual position in the pack and his role at Winterfell and in Sansa’s ruling administration.

But by allowing Jon, Bran and even Arya herself their freedoms to pursue their own personal desires, Sansa took on their responsibilities.  Arya knew that deep down Sansa wasn’t completely satisfied with her life, but after so much pain, Sansa might have wanted to avoid pursuing any further happiness, such that she might ruin whatever fragile peace they already had.

 

Arya had seen Sansa gazing softly at babes when she thought she had a moment alone - but Sansa, for now at least, seemed to have put any maternal desires to the back of her mind.

 

Oddly enough, Sansa, who had desired to be a lady with a loving husband and family in her youth, found herself alone, whilst Arya had a casual long-distance relationship with Gendry Baratheon, the Lord of Storms End after they came to an understanding.  Arya sometimes felt guilty about how her life turned out when it was due to Sansa’s sacrifice that it was possible.

“Something on your mind?”  Sansa asked after a few moments of Arya’s musings.  

Arya realised that she had too much to say to Sansa for a quick conversation, so she rises from her seat and nods.  

“I’ll talk to you later.”   With nothing else she can do, Arya gives Sansa an encouraging smile, before turning on her heel and striding away.

As she arrives at the door, Sansa calls to her.  “Could you ask Jon to come here?” Arya nods, but Sansa continue.  “Tell him ‘his queen requires his attendance’.”

Arya finds Jon working in the glass gardens as Bran meditates nearby.  As is typical, as soon as Arya says a word about Sansa, Jon seems to perk up.

After Arya delivers the message as Sansa instructed, she sees a weird look pass over Jon’s face, and he strides away with great purpose.

 

Arya collects the bag with a few crunchy apples that Jon had left behind, and offers to take Bran for a walk (Bran doesn’t want to go to the Weirwood Tree, this time) and muses on the observation that Sansa’s phrases must mean something between herself and Jon, lest he get into a panicking fuss and burst into the room when she was in an important diplomatic meeting.  This seems to amuse Bran, the little he can be amused right now, joking about Jon’s protectiveness of Sansa.

Ser Brienne opened the great door, but Jon paid her no mind as he stepped into the great hall, slowly stepping up the room.  The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone, and Jon had to override his instinct to eagerly close the gap between himself and Sansa, who sat on her throne, her face a regal mask, peering down at him.

 

Jon walked forward, every careful step delicately ordered against the turmoil roiling in himself, a outward semblance of order that could shield Sansa from the chaos of reality.  There was no need for words as Jon sank to his knees in front of the table, and bowed his head, anticipation roiling in his gut.

Some might have called the northern throne that Sansa used a glorified chair, but Jon did not care about that.  Sansa was the true Queen, her wishes and desires were his to make reality, and even words were unnecessary in the moment.

The throne scraped as Sansa shifted it with her weight, the noise an indication for Jon to move around the great table, but even now, with the next stage so tantalisingly close, Jon continued to move with methodical purpose, though his treacherous body was reacting to the prospect close at hand, of Sansa coming undone through his ministrations, Jon refused to submit to those urges - there would be other times for a sweeping display of passion.  Jon felt Sansa’s eyes on him as he moved closer, and in moment between arriving at Sansa’s side and sinking to his knees, Jon looked at Sansa, and she slipped off her regal mask, allowing him to feel the depth of her love and desire for a fleeting moment, before schooling her features once again.

 

For a few seconds, that felt like an eternity, nothing happened.  And then Sansa chose, her legs shifted, opening a small amount, teasing the treasure between them.  Jon sank to his knees, shifted under the table, and gently pulled the throne back to its usual position.

Jon delicately ran his palms over Sansa’s knees, her thick skirt rubbing against the pads of his hands.  Jon ran his hands down to the hem of Sansa’s skirt, before reaching under, and gently tracing his hand up her calves, bringing the skirt up with them and perching it on her knees, before tenderly pressing on Sansa’s legs, spreading them wider so her skirt did not fall back down.

Jon ran his hands up and down Sansa’s legs, delicately placing soft kisses on each as he did, her smooth silk stockings adding to the tactile sensation they both loved.

 

Sansa craved touch, and Jon sometimes wondered if she was aware how much she seemed to crave being touched by  _ him.  _  Even before they knew of Father’s duplicity, Sansa would seek him out in the evening, and a quiet conversation before the fireplace would end with Sansa cradled in Jon’s arm, a serene expression on her face.  Jon, who felt the stirrings of a lust he now knew to be acceptable, could not, even then, refuse her at least some small moment of peace, despite the guilt and turmoil that churned inside him in the moment, and later in his chambers, as he took himself in hand, wondering the result had he had the courage, or the cowardice, to escalate the situation.  

Now, Jon and Sansa were free to touch each other as much as they pleased, though perhaps wishing for a personal time when their lives were scrutinised so, they had decided to keep their relationship secret for the moment.   There were times when Jon felt some people had to know, besides Bran, who Jon figured knew everything but was beholden to some cosmic will, but no one seemed to explicitly acknowledge it.

Sansa moved herself, ostensibly to reach for another parchment before her quill scratched across it, seating herself closer to the edge of her throne, allowing Jon ease of access to her sweet centre.  Jon felt a thrill run down his spine and his

manhood harden at the idea of pleasuring his queen whilst she worked diligently above him, allowing himself to be a tool for the good of the realm, his pleasures borne from her feigning being physically unaffected by his touch, before they became too much to ignore and she feel apart.  

The heady scent of the beginnings of her arousal seeped through Sansa’s smallclothes and Jon placed a gentle kiss on the top of them, a taste of things to come, before gently levering her up off the throne, taking a moment to gently squeeze her behind as he delicately removed her underthings .

Knowing he had a delicate balance to strike between taking the time to build up the tension and giving Sansa her release before her meeting, Jon relaxed his tongue and gently swiped it up her cunt, the first beads of her arousal sharp and sweet on his tongue.  Sansa took a steadying breath above him, and Jon alternated between gentle, wide strokes with his tongue up across her cunt, and soft butterfly kisses around the edge of her centre, building up the tension. Jon felt himself growing harder as Sansa took numerous little breaths to try and control her reaction, her quill scratching erratically as it became harder for her to ignore the mounting tension that coiled inside her.

Though silence had been the cornerstone of the beginning of this particular arrangement, Jon had an instinctive understanding of what Sansa wanted, and she understood the same, so Jon moaned softly against her cunt, as though he could not stop the pleasure he felt being vocalised.  Truly, it took all of his willpower to hold in his vocalisations when he pleasured Sansa. Perhaps it was odd that giving pleasure gave him just as much satisfaction, perhaps more, than receiving it. Perhaps it was because it was  _ Sansa _ , who he had thought of for years with unusual affectations,  _ sister, half-sister, but not sister. _  In another moment, Jon would murmur against Sansa’s core, telling her of her sweetness, and how his manhood was almost painfully stiff against his breeches.  Sansa shared with Jon a desire to be praised for good deeds, and Jon, though he could not say them aloud, his thoughts ran along the lines he wished he could enunciate.  ‘ _ Sweet girl, sweetest lady, my lovely Queen... Sansa.” _

Jon’s moan elicited a response he could not ignore, as she rolled her hips, her cunt swiping past his lips and back, her arousal swelling her folds.  Jon teasingly nipped them between his own lips, before dipping his tongue into her most sacred place.

 

Now Sansa’s breaths became heady little whimpers, and her legs began to shift of their own volition, attempting to clamp Jon’s head between them.  After a moment or two, Jon brought his hands up to gently yet firmly hold Sansa’s thighs apart, as he continued to build up the pace with which he tongue-fucked her and his wet kisses around the area surrounding her clit.

 

As Sansa’s whimpers became more and more vocalised, Jon showed mercy, pushing her legs as far as they would open, before softly sucking around her clit.  Sansa came apart as the door opened.

“Your grace, the representative from the Iron Bank is here to see you.”  

 

Sansa, who had been in the first throes of moaning her release, managed to disguise her climax as a tired yawn.  Jon felt an inordinate thrill at the prospect of being caught, of others knowing both that he alone gave Sansa her pleasure, and that she could receive that pleasure whenever she desired.  Jon spaced out as Sansa sent Brienne to fetch the Iron Bank’s representative, vaguely registering that she could have sent him out the side door had she desired, so Jon was living through the sweetest torture as Sansa performed her queenly duties, his head still under skirts, her cunt so tantalisingly close, yet forbidden.

 

Jon listened to Sansa speaking about numbers, impressed with the improvement she had made with her mathematical skills, yet he felt himself growing ashamed of the responsibilities she had taken on, whilst he was allowed to recover from the horrors of the wars without them.  Perhaps the North and Westeros would never welcome him in a position of power again, but Jon wished he could alleviate so of Sansa’s burdens, beyond even granting her relief from her stress.

 

With Westerosi infrastructure in shambles and winter still upon them, with thousands of refugees needing food and shelter, Sansa had arranged many loans with the Iron Bank to facilitate the survival of Westeros during the harshest winter many had ever known.

 

Sansa, who had refused the Queenship when it was first offered by a council of nobles, relented when Arya and Bran beseeched her to reconsider.  Some Lords did not entirely approve of a ruler that lived in the North, but Sansa’s rulership had assuaged some misgivings, but her reign wasn’t entirely secure.  The Iron Bank had sent its representative to ensure that any debts would be paid, and Jon listened with pride as Sansa eloquently explained her plans and methods, but the Iron Bank was a tough customer, and Jon felt the tension begin to build up as Sansa continued to explain herself.  Even under stress, and it was stressful - thousands of lives hung in the balance if the Iron Bank withdrew funding - but Sansa was cool and Queenly in her demeanour.

 

In the middle of speaking about potential long term projects (even in crisis Sansa looked to the future), Sansa nudged Jon’s hip and elbow with her foot, before accidentally dropping her quill. As she reached to take the quill from Jon’s hand, she pulled it under her skirts and and shocked thrill raced up his spine at what his Sansa desired.

 

With Sansa already reaching climax minutes beforehand, Jon gently used his fingers to dip in and out of her cunny, languidly giving her a pleasant buzz of pleasure that would counter the stress of the situation.  Jon thought that surely they would be caught, but even through small-talk of important matters - the Iron Bank advised Sansa utilise a Master of Coin - the Iron Bank even kindly offered to provide one themselves, but Sansa delicately yet sincerely spoke of the problems raised of the wrong people being in positions of power and responsibility, and Jon was somewhat surprised that it was this, and not the facts Sansa presented, that seemed to convince the Iron Bank that continuing to support her regime was the best course of action.

 

Though he did not expect it, Jon always delighted when Sansa would show her delight in him by milking his release by her hand, mouth and cunny, a release that usually came quickly if Jon didn’t suppress it, such was his arousal at giving his sister-cousin her pleasure.

After final pleasantries, and the departure of the only obstacle to Sansa pulling him up from under her skirts and having her way with him, Jon was dismayed to hear the soft footfalls and voice of his sister.   _ Please go away, Arya.   _ Jon begged in his mind, withdrawing his hand from Sansa’s cunt.

“How did it go?”  Arya asked, crunching into an apple.

Sansa let out a sigh of relief.  “Well as I could have hoped for.”  Jon heard Arya’s boot step closer to his hidden location.  

“Did this help?”  Arya, though hidden from Jon, seemed to be indicating at something.  

“Preparation always helps.”

“I’m not talking about that.”  Arya said with amusement evident in her voice.  “I mean the table covering you spent so long making.  I don’t understand you sometimes…”

“Oh, it helped.”  Sansa said, with an air of mischievousness that Jon was shocked that Arya did not pick up on, or perhaps she did and attributed it to her sister’s love of pretty things.  

“Guess I don’t need to understand you - I just need to love you.  Speaking of loving you, could I take a moment to speak with you?”

Jon could envisage Sansa frowning with concern above him.

“It’s about Jon.”  Arya continued. 

“What about Jon?”  

“Does.  You. Jon.”  Arya seemed to struggle to articulate himself.  “Does Jon only come to you as a subject to his queen?”  Arya seemed to pause to gather herself before continuing.  “It’s just that - I speak to people, I listen, and I know that you had a different dynamic back when he was King - you seemed closer, from what I’ve heard, and I wish Jon would not be so distant with you as he is now.”

 

Sansa waited before replying.  “Jon and I have a different kind of relationship, and so much has happened since then that it is hard to return to what was before.”

 

”I just.  I just want you to be happy.”  Arya continued quietly. “You and Jon.  And from what I’ve heard - what I’ve  _ seen _ , you two are happiest together.”

“I love Jon.  And I know he loves me.  We, all of us, are a pack.  Even if we don’t always show it, we’re united.  Trust in that.” 

“So that particular phrasing is a secret code between you?”  Arya asked.

“Yes, Jon and I are very intuitive of each others’ wishes, but sometimes it can be useful to know what the other wants, especially as there can be many ears around.”

“And how did Jon do with what you wanted earlier?”

Sansa paused.  “Adequately.”

_ Adequately?   _ Jon was personally affronted.   _ Adequately!   _ Before her could stop himself, he stretched out his head and sucked Sansa’s clit into his mouth just as she shifted, nearly cumming at the action of doing so with their  _ sister  _ just feet away.  

Sansa could not help but let out an involuntary noise.

“Sansa!  Are you okay?”  Arya says with concern, and Jon hears her begin to move around the table.

“It’s nothing.” Sansa desperately tries to wave her off but Jon cannot believe his own audacity as he continues to lap at her cunt, her core astoundingly wet, betraying her own thrill at the situation.  “I just got a cramp from sitting here too long. I’ll be fine in a moment. I know you have your afternoon practice about now. You can take Ser Brienne with you should you desire, I’ll be fine here.

 

Arya seemed to pause to take in all this information, before seemingly accepting it.  She places something down on the table. “To tide you over until you decide to take lunch.”  

 

Jon listened to her footfalls die away and the door clicking shut before her and Brienne’s steps faded away.

 

Sansa ripped him up from under her skirts with surprising strength.  

“What the fuck?” she demands, though her eyes blown wide with lust bely her true feelings.  She shoves him against the edge of the table, before throwing herself at him, crushing her lips to his with a passionate, bruising kiss.  After a moment, she pulls off him, yanking him on to the table before reach over to her letter-opener and slicing through the knots holding his breeches up.

“I’ll fix it later.”  she says hotly, but Jon cannot bring himself to care about the state of his clothing at the moment, beyond a savage need to be rid of it as quickly as possible.  He kicks his breeches off as Sansa helps pull them off, before scooting Jon onto the table and in front of her throne, shoving the parchments aside with careless abandon.

Her hand reaches for his cock, but he is already so painfully hard from licking her cunt that Sansa does not bother with foreplay, but sucks it into her warm and wet mouth, her sweet pink lips pursed around him, her simple and elegant crown perched on her head.  Jon feels himself tighten as the sheer perversity of the Queen, his Queen, sucking his cock whilst sitting on her throne and wearing her crown hits him. 

“Sansa, unnngh!”  Jon groans in warning, but Sansa immediately releases him with a pop.  

“Jon, don’t you dare cum!”  Sansa commands hotly. “I haven’t finished with your cock!”    

 

Despite her instructions, Sansa does nothing to ease tension, reaching under her skirts to play with her cunny whilst vigorously sucking on his cock.  

“Sansa, please!”  Jon begs, yet his queen is not merciful.  “GODS, SANSA! I can’t - I won’t. SANSA! MY QUEEN!  I LOVE - SANSA.” Jon’s shouts become more and more incoherent as he attempts to stave off his orgasm, before Sansa finally as enough foreplay, his cock weeping with his own arousal and dripping with her saliva.

Standing up, Sansa shoves Jon to lie back on the table, before hiking up her skirts and climbing up and over him to impale herself upon him.  

Sansa began to move up and down on his cock, setting the pace, her hips rolling and snapping to get the most pleasure.  Jon caught her eye and saw a mischievousness in her gaze, and knew he would continue to be punished for his earlier audacity.

“Would you like to see my breasts, Jon?”  Sansa asks hotly, smirking down at him. Jon shut his eyes to try and stave off the release that Sansa had not yet permitted him to have.  Jon felt her body lower and rest along his, Sansa kissing along the shell of his ear as she nearly pulled herself off of his cock, her cunt kissing the head.  “I know you would.” Sansa continues. “I love it when you look at my Wolf Bits. I loved it when you looked at them in Castle Black.” Sansa confesses in his ear.  “It gives me such a thrill knowing you desire me. This is where we belong, your hard cock inside my warm cunny. I’m about to peak, Jon. I know you will peak, you’re such a good boy, a good man for me.  Can you peak inside me Jon? I still need you, Jon. Can you release your seed inside my cunny, Jon? Will you fuck me with your seed inside my cunt, Jon.

 

At Jon’s shaky nod, Sansa smiled and kissed him on his lips, and Jon exploded with his release, her name rending the air as he shot load after load into her quim, whilst her cunt squeezed and pulsed around him.  Jon opened his eyes to see Sansa smiling above him, before the two began to exchange soft and gentle kisses, an innocent contrast to his manhood still half-hard in her throbbing pussy.

Jon began to take control, gently guiding Sansa around to sit her on the table.  

“I do love your breasts, sweet Sansa.  I love their look…” Jon kissed at her neck.  “I love their feel…” Jon cupped her clothed teats, swiping the pad of his thumb across the slight bump of her nipples that strained against the fabric, hidden though it was below of layers of clothing.  “I love their taste….” He nips at the edge of her lips.

Sansa looks at him with hooded eyes.  “Then taste them, Jon.”

 

Jon moves his hands to reach around to gently undo her dress but she stops him.  “With the clothes on.” Sansa smiles. He had sucked her teats through her underclothes, but never through so many layers as now.  Gently he swiped his tongue up her dress, though the fabric was slightly unpleasant to lick Jon couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Do you feel that, Jon?  Sansa asks, kisses his head as her licks at her.  “How much I want you?” Indeed, Jon can feel it, and sucks the tip of her breast into his mouth, but after a minute of Jon alternating between her breasts, Sansa pushes him off of her.  

“I believe I’m overdressed.”  Sansa informs him, and turns to face the great doors.

 

Jon begins to gently undo her dress, kissing the top of her spine as he does so.  His ministrations are slow yet steady, but when Sansa slips her arms out of her sleeves and the dress pools around hips, Jon cannot resist slipping his hands under her shift to pinch her nipples.  Sansa groans as a pleasurable thrill shoots down to her clit, and she reaches under her skirts to play with herself.

“Hurry up, Jon.”  Sansa begins hotly, glancing over to her shoulder Jon who is  _ taking his sweet time  _ about it all.  

“As you command, my Queen.”  Jon replies, and he does listen, pushing her dress over the swell of her arse and undoing her shift before removing his own shirt.  Now, completely naked except for her stockings and Jon’s boots, Sansa leans onto her forearms, and rubs her arse against Jon’s hardening cock.  Jon dipped his fingers between her legs to check her wetness, feeling the stickiness of his own seed on his finger. 

“Enough foreplay, Jon!”  Sansa commanded hotly. “Hurry up and fuck me!”

 

Jon disobeyed for a moment, stroking his cock up and down her folds, before cupping her breasts and playing with her nipples and he drove into her soaking cunt.  

“Your Grace,” Jon began, as they reached a rhythm whilst he fiddled with her gently moving teats.  “Is there enough room in our budget for some improvements to Winterfell?”

“What do you have in mind, Jon?”  Sansa asks, sighing dreamily as he continues to pump in and out of her.  

“Well,”  Jon leans down as he begins to fuck her faster.  “I’d love to see the look on your face as I bend you over this table and fuck you.  I’ve love to see your teats swaying. I love to see how you see yourself being fucked, being loved, my glorious Queen, my Sansa.”

Sansa whined as Jon interspersed his words with kisses to her shoulders and neck, whilst one hand abandoned her breasts to reach around and play through her soft curls to her clit.   

“If you are willing to tell the stewards that you wish to see their Queen naked.”  Sansa replies naughtily, moving herself up and down his cock faster than before. “ _ My Lords.”   _ Sansa began in a passable yet deliberately false version of his voice.  “ _ I confess to taking myself in hand at the idea of your queen naked and writhing around my cock. If it’s not too much bother, could you arrange some funds to facilitate my wet dreams?” _

Jon playfully smacks her arse as Sansa laughs.  “We can just say it’s for security reasons,” and Jon cannot help but laugh himself, but Sansa seems to be lost in thought as she stops moving against him.

“Sansa?”  Jon asks with concern of the change in her actions.

Sansa responded by lifting herself off of his cock.  “I need to talk to you. I need to look you in the eye while I do.”  

 

Jon waits with concern, frowning softly.  

“It’s nothing serious.”  Sansa smiles at him, squatting down but she does not take his cock into her mouth, instead she gently pumps her soft hands around his cock.  Sansa, intuitive as always, seems to catch the disappointment as he expectations were not realised. “How can I talk with your cock is in my mouth?”  Sansa asked, an air of amusement in her voice. “I feel that you’ll like what I’m about to do though.” Sansa lubricates his cock with her saliva, before taking his cock between her tits.

Jon bit his lip as he looked down at Sansa, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to stave off the sheer arousal he feels at Sansa’s actions, and she must know how she affects him, the thrill of the juxtaposition between her power and her vulnerability a titillating contrast.  But she seems to feel quite casual about the whole situation, started to speak with the tone of voice of one who was amicably chatting about the weather.

“Was it licking my cunt that made your cock so hard earlier?”  Sansa asked, finishing her question with sceptical hum. Jon opened his eyes and released his lip, feeling like a green boy as Sansa seemed determined to overload him with sensory input - even her eyes triggered his arousal.  

“Sansa, you know I love supping at your sweet cunt.”  Jon responded as Sansa smirked up at him, pushing her tits around his cock as she moved up body up and down.

“Yes, you do.”  Sansa agreed. “You’re such a good man.  So good for your Queen. You helped me so much, and thereby, you helped the realm.  I would not be a good sovereign if I did not reward excellent service and loyalty, would I?”

“I don’t do it for a reward, Sans-”  

“Would you like it if I claimed to be indisposed,”  Sansa continued over him. “And I sucked your cock under the tablecloth at dinner tonight?”  Jon’s cock twitched involuntarily. “You like the idea of pleasuring each other with people so close by, so close to being caught?  Or was it our sister’s presence that made your cock so close to release?” 

 

Jon’s legs bucked, shaking Sansa slightly but she seemed pleased at his reaction.  “Our sister?” Sansa continued, with the instinct of a predator that had finally zeroed in on her quarry.  “But it’s not Arya that has you so worked up, is it? ‘ _ Our Sister.’   _ You want to fuck your sister, don’t you?  You’re imagining me as your sister, even now, aren’t you?”  At these words, Sansa wrapped her lips around Jon’s cock and began to suck, her left hand pinching at her nipples whilst her right dipped into her cunt.  Sansa moaned around Jon’s cock as another release hit her, and Jon tried to desperately shove her away but Sansa sucked harder, coaxing his release out as his seed squirted into her mouth.

“Sansa, I’m so sorry.”  Jon began to apologise as Sansa swallowed his release.  “I didn’t mean to spend in your mouth-”

 

”It’s quite alright, Jon.”  Sansa silenced him with a kiss.  “I knew what I was doing.” Sansa sat herself up in the table, and reached for the apple that Arya had left for her, before biting into it with a pleasing crunch.  “Although I’m slightly disappointed. I was looking forward to doing something more whilst we had the time.”

Jon’s eyes were still dark as he looked down at Sansa, his jaw set.

“Really, you’ve just spent twice and you’re ready to go again?”  Sansa asked. Jon rolled his eyes.

“You should know by now how much you effect me, sweet lady.  And no, I’m not quite ready, I’ll have to prepare myself.” At this, Jon bent down to lick away some seed that was leaking out of Sansa’s cunt.  Sansa’s blue eyes blew wide open. “I had to make sure your pretty tablecloth wasn’t ruined” Jon explained as he kneeled on the stone. “Tell me about your fantasies, my lady.”  Jon said, as he stood up and then began to move down, sucking at the top her her breasts.

Sansa pushed him off, her eyes hooded.  “Sit on our throne, Jon.”

Jon seemed reluctant, and that was the crux of the problem.  Jon was serving as Winterfell’s castellan, and after the events of the wars, Jon felt unworthy of any position of power and responsibility.  Although she had taken to the task of ruling Westeros with her high standards of excellency, she seemed determined that Jon still belonged alongside her, and not in stolen secret moments of pleasure, but as leaders, of Westeros, of the North, of Winterfell.  Sansa was generous enough to bear the burden of leadership alone whilst Jon recovered from the trauma of appeasing the tyrannical Dragon Queen. Jon still had misgivings about his own role in the conflict, but Sansa, for her part, had forgiven any wrongdoings, real or imagined.

 

Jon acquiesced, seating himself on the throne as he rubbed his hands up and down the sides of Sansa’s body, giving Sansa her pleasure distracting him from his own feelings of inadequacy.

“Suck on my teats, Jon.”  Sansa commands offhandedly and sighs when he obeys, his hands squeezing at her arse.  With a sigh, Sansa continues. “Would you like to know of my fantasy where you were slow and gentle, or the one where you were swift and firm?”

Jon released her right nipple with a pop.  “Both.” Jon kissed between her breasts. “But the shorter one first.”

“The one where you showed your authority.”  Sansa moaned as Jon began to lick her left nipple.  “We would argue, as you know, of course. You, wanting to protect me.  I, wishing you would understand the threats beyond the dead. I didn’t want you to get yourself killed and leave me alone again.  You would glare at me, give me that look, and I felt wicked and ashamed when my body reacted. Surely it was because I was broken that I felt such wanton cravings for my own brother.”  Jon did not respond with words, but dipped his fingers into her wet cunt as he continued to lap at her breasts. “I would ruin my smallclothes and, in the darkness of my chambers, would imagine you losing control after one of our arguments, and turning me around, hiking my skirts up over my arse, before reaching down and finding my smallclothes soaked, so you would push them aside before burying your cock inside my cunt, giving me the release I desired.  I knew you would never force yourself upon me, but I wished I could affect you as much as you effected me.”

“You did effect me.”  Jon confessed. “I took myself in hand far too often and felt just as horribly guilty about it.  Mostly, it was our gentle moments, your innocence fuelling my depraved bastard lusts - those nights in the solar, where you would cuddle up to me.  I would harden even at those innocent sisterly gestures.”

Sansa reached down to cup Jon’s face, her thumb rubbing soothingly along his jawline.  

“I thought you somehow knew of my wicked thoughts and you pulled away from me because of them.”  Sansa admitted. 

Jon chuckled.  “We were such idiots.  I did not want you to know of what your proximity did to me.  I thought you would be disgusted. Had I known you felt for me as I felt for you, perhaps…”

“Perhaps being brother and sister would not have stopped us, and that would have opened up so many avenues of strife.”

“Tell me about your other desires, sweet Sansa.”  Jon instructed, moving down to lick at Sansa’s cunny.  

“My King would summon me - to his chambers, to my chambers, to the great hall.  I had numerous dreams of the same nature, and my King would praise his lady for the good job she had been doing, and would ask me to name my desires so he could reward me.  Of course, I was rarely able to confess my wanton desires, even in my own dreams, but my King was perceptive, and he sat on his throne and put me on the table in front of him, and lifted my skirts to sup at my cunt, and my King would tell me how he loved the taste of my cunny as he lapped at my juices.  Normally, that would be enough to grant me my release, but sometimes I needed to go further.” Sansa sighed, looking down to see that Jon had taken himself in hand.

“I love the taste of your cunny, my Lady.”  Jon said between licks. “So sweet, so  _ Sansa. _  I could seat myself at this feast for eternity.”

“As pleasant as that thought is, Jon,” Sansa answered with a breathy little sigh, “we’d miss out on so much more.”

Sansa’s legs squeezed around Jon’s head as his ministrations to her clit sent her over the edge, before nudging him to sit back on the throne.

 

But Sansa did not mount him as he expected her to, but seemed to be waiting for something.

“Would you like to-”  Sansa silenced Jon with a fingertip, looking down at him with meaning in her eyes.

“Here, Jon, you are King. ”   Sansa instructed meaningfully.

Jon seemed to understand.  “Come here and ride your King’s cock, my Queen.”  

 

Sansa obeyed, kissing Jon passionately as she set the pace, riding her cunt up and down his manhood.  

“Is this what you imagined fucking your sister would be like?”  Sansa asked. “Your cock buried inside her cunt in the great hall?”

Jon kissed her soundly.  “My Queen should not say such filthy things if she wishes for her king to last.”

“My King should not think such dirty thoughts if so.”  Sansa continued, bouncing harder on his lap as she made no effort to slow down the impeding climax.  “How long had imagined taking me carnally? Winterfell? Our travels in the North? Castle Black?” Sansa leaned back, unfairly in Jon’s mind, captivating him as she played with her pink-tipped breasts, his vulnerability for her breasts she knew Jon had allowing her to continue her line of questioning.  “Before we left Winterfell?”

At this, Jon’s hips bucked into her, and Sansa smiled broadly, but Jon protested.  “I- It wasn’t as filthy.” Jon mumbled. “I knew I should not find you as beautiful as I did.”  Jon confessed. “Mostly I imagined your smile if I managed to do something that pleased you. Or walking together through the flowers blooming in the godswood.”

Sansa smiled at Jon.  “You’re such a sweetheart.  I love you so much.”

“As much as I love our games, I love you most of all, Sansa.”  Jon replied, kissing her as they came together. For a few moments, they held each other, before dressing and packing away the scrolls Sansa used in her meeting.  The corridors were surprisingly empty as they left the great hall together.

“The old gods must be blessing us.”  Sansa murmured. “Perhaps we should repay them in the Godswood later.”  

“Yes.” Jon agreed.  “I expected more people to be around.”

Happily, Jon and Sansa rounded the corner, arm in arm, together.

Arya Stark slipped away as footsteps rounded the corner, her light footfalls reaching Ser Podrick Payne without detection.  “Tell my brother he can stop partying in Wintertown. I’ll let Ser Brienne know she can leave her post.” 

“Yes, My Lady.”  Podrick nodded before leaving to perform his duty.

_ I hope Winterfell is fully repaired soon,  _ Arya commanded her thoughts to think.   _ It is for the security of the seat Starks that Jon, the castellan, discusses in secret with the Lady of Winterfell, and no other reasons, no other reasons, no other reasons,  _ Arya continues in a silent mantra as she walks on.    


End file.
